


Hourglass Time

by Sealie



Series: 'Uhane [2]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-06 22:29:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealie/pseuds/Sealie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sentinel fusion, and continuation of 'The First Thirty Minutes'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hourglass Time

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: Slash; PG; h/c  
> Word count: ~ 9,800  
> Warning: none  
> Advisory: potty mouth; WIP of sorts  
> Spoilers: none  
> Beta: Springwoof *blows kisses*  
> Comments:  
> 1) British English spelling  
> 2) Sentinel fusion, and continuation of The First Thirty Minutes -- http://jimandblair.livejournal.com/133496.html or http://archiveofourown.org/works/359310

**Hourglass Time.**  
By Sealie 

Steve looked down at the tiny can of worms who was gazing back at him with rapt, gummy adoration. 

Grace’s new baby brother was a sentinel. And that meant, fairly conclusively, that he was not Stan’s son -- he was indeed Danny’s offspring. 

George blew a spit bubble, unaware of the pyroclastic battle that was going to be imminently brewing on the horizon. 

“He cries a lot, Uncle Steve,” Grace said. Her hands were clasped behind her back as she leaned over the baby carriage.

Little bluey-grey eyes that, in ninety-nine percent of the population, were far too young to do so, focussed on her. 

Danny had often bemoaned the fact that if Grace had been a sentinel or guide, he would have got custody, regardless of how much money Rachel commanded. 

The kid was cute and all, but Steve was fairly sure that he did not want him twenty four/seven. Being lumbered with babysitting George and Grace while Rachel barricaded herself in Danny’s office hadn’t been on his list of things to do either -- but he was still babysitting. The baby had croup (not true in Steve’s estimation, it was probably a combination of house dust and rabbit dander) and Rachel hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in a week and she’d kept Gracie back from visiting Danny on a vindictive, tired whim. There had been a phone fight, followed by her flying into headquarters in high dudgeon. 

She was overtired, stressed, and in all honesty it was perfectly understandable -- new babies were exhausting. The screeching was also understandable; Danny could be very aggravating. 

Steve entertained himself selfishly for a moment -- imagining taking Danny home, curling up on the sofa, and watching Battlestar Galactica. 

Unformed, diffuse emotions drifted over him: comfortable, curious about his new space, and hungry. 

Steve rooted in the bag slung under the baby carriage and found the prepped bottle. 

“You want to take this to Kono and heat it?” he versed it as a question rather than an order. 

“I can use the microwave,” Grace said with a soupçon of adolescent anger. 

“You haven’t used the one in our break room before. Chin bought it.” Steve waggled his eyebrows 

“Does it glow in the dark?” Grace asked seriously -- what stories had Danny been telling her?

“No, but it has forty eight programmes.”

Grace snatched the bottle out of Steve’s hand and dashed out of his office to find Kono. Steve freed George from his confining blankets and the baby revelled in the sudden freedom. 

“Hey.” Steve lifted him up, supporting George’s head in the palm of his hand and his body along the length of his forearm. Sock covered feet pushed uncoordinatedly against his ribs. “Your Danno’s going to be ecstatic. Your mom pissed.” 

Nebulous thought processes were categorising him as: comfort, love, and smooth -- which brought a grin to Steve’s face. 

“You’re just saying that because it’s true,” Steve told the baby, cradling him against his side as he sat down. “Man, a Baby Danno with no defences. I refuse to be charmed, by the way.”

“Uncle Steve.” Grace screeched into the office -- Steve soothed George with an absent thought -- and thrust the bottle in his face. 

Steve thanked her and accepted the bottle. As he angled the bottle towards the baby, the happy thoughts abruptly segued into distress and a vile, slimy taste flooded Steve’s mouth. 

“Great.” Steve pulled the bottle out of sight, tucking it down by his side, and around the back of his computer chair. 

“What’s the matter, Uncle Steve?”

“He doesn’t like the milk, or the plastic, or the nipple,” Steve explained. 

There was a nursery in the Palace. George was winding up around a little bright core of frustration. Shifting him against his shoulder, Steve leaned over in his chair and reached for the landline phone -- he didn’t know the extension. 

“Grace? Can you get on the intranet homepage on my computer--”

“Oooh.” Grace clambered onto his lap and wiggled down between his thigh and the arm of the chair, immediately corralling the mouse and expertly surfing. 

“Get me the extension for the day care,”

Click click click. “5353.”

Four buttons later and Steve was talking to a Mrs. Villela, and confirming, yes, they did have a sentinel friendly brand of baby milk, a glass bottle, and a neoprene skin replica nipple with low-to-negligible toxicity. And then it was on the way up to the offices. 

“Thanks.” 

George was simply emoting: hungry, hungry, hungry. 

In his own way, he was as straightforward as Danno. 

“Why’s he not crying?” Gracie asked. “He always cries.”

“All the time?” 

“No, not in the bath.” Gracie leaned back against Steve craning her head. “Mommy wants him to ‘take’ the bottle. He doesn’t like it.” 

“He doesn’t like the taste of it. Or--” Steve cocked his head to the side, remembering that vile, slimy taste, “--perhaps the texture.” 

“What’s texture?” 

“Smooth. Rough. Oily. The way things feel. I don’t like mushrooms. They taste bland, but the texture feels like dead, rotten flesh.” 

Grace stared at him. 

“Bad example,” Steve said. “Silk has a nice texture.” 

“Commander?” A young woman stood at the door to his office, holding the bottle. “I warmed it. Is this the little sentinel?”

“Sentinel?” Grace asked, scrunching her nose up. “George is like daddy?” 

Steve nodded. He kept one eye on her, waiting for an explosion, as he held out his hand for the bottle, gesturing for the young woman to enter. George was gumming furiously on the edge of the pocket of Steve’s cotton polo shirt, drooling. Surprisingly, no explosion was forthcoming from Grace, but Steve could feel a dull, jealous glowering smoulder a little hotter. 

“Have you fed a baby before, Commander?” the woman asked, as she gingerly placed the warm bottle in his outstretched hand. 

Steve nodded, refraining from rolling his eyes. George sniffed, intrigued by the milk smell. Angling George away from his damp shirt pocket, Steve dabbled his bottom lip with milk. George latched on like a hoover. 

“Hungry boy,” the day care supervisor noted. 

“Thank you,” Steve said, as he thought sincerely, _time to go_. 

“I best go. Back to the kids.” 

“I’ll return the bottle later.”

“No hurry.” She backed off, accidently catching her shoulder on the doorframe as she ran. 

George was utterly content.

“If George is a sentinel just like daddy, it means that he’s my real brother and not my half-brother,” Grace summed up, brightly. 

The scientist in Steve demanded that he qualify that observation, “It is possible that there are sentinels on your Mom or Step Stan’s side of the family. And, you know,” he added, “George is your ‘real’ brother even if he’s your half-brother.” 

He even felt like Danny, a contained comet on the verge of exploding. Steve seriously doubted that Stan was related to baby George -- poor guy, cuckolded. 

Steve knew he was indulging himself in being selfish, but he mourned the life that he had had up until half an hour ago. Steve had liked being a Navy SEAL, Danny’s secretive guide, stealing quiet moments. Regardless of his meandering thoughts, both he and Danny had decided that they were going to acknowledge publically that they were Sentinel and Guide. But they were going to do it in their own time. George had pushed up that agenda, and now he had to factor childcare into the mix. 

The timing was now, because Rachel and Stan needed to be told, since they were the current, _de facto_ guardians of a baby sentinel, and a misstep could damage or even kill him. And since he had told Grace that George was a sentinel, Rachel and Danny were going to know as soon as they stopped yelling at each other. 

George slurped down the final mouthful and sagged happily. Steve angled him over his shoulder, an edge of a blanket tucked under his rosebud mouth. As Steve rubbed his back carefully, George burped on command and, exhausted, fell asleep on the edge of it. 

“I didn’t know you liked babies, Uncle Steve.” 

“What’s not to like?” Steve said diplomatically. 

Grace eyed him, knowingly. “It’s okay, sometimes he annoys me too.”

Steve pushed against her side in a sort of hug, as he held the baby. “You know that your Danno and Mom love you.”

“Yes, Uncle Steve,” Grace said, exasperated. 

“Of course, we love you. Danno loves you,” Danny proclaimed from the doorway. 

Steve looked up and Danny snapped off a photo with his Blackberry of the three of them tucked in Steve’s computer chair. 

“Danno, George is a sentinel, just like you!” Grace chirped out. 

“What?” Danny said and was so surprised that he inadvertently took another photo. 

“Steve says. He had to get a special bottle of milk from the nursery. George drank it without crying!” 

“Babe?” Danny asked, and Steve could feel the tenor of Danny’s thoughts -- his heart in his mouth. 

Steve nodded. “He feels just like you,” he said, words loaded. 

“What?” Rachel twisted around Danny, without touching him, and stalked into Steve’s office. Her eyes darted between Steve and Danny. 

“You said that he wasn’t mine!” Danny yelled. 

“He’s not!” Rachel shrieked back at him.

Steve glanced down at Grace beside him. “Shall we go hide in Kono’s office?” 

“I’m hungry, Uncle Steve.” 

“Okay.” Steve carefully got up, cognizant of the sleeping weight. Tongue caught between his teeth, he placed George back in his baby carriage and tucked him in. “Let’s find Kono and go get some snacks from the juice bar on the corner.” 

Grace kept one hand on the handle as Steve manoeuvred the baby carriage around her yelling parents and out of his office. 

~*~

“Carrot and orange with a dash of ginseng?” Beely at the juice bar asked over the counter top. 

Steve pursed his lips, pondering. “Actually, beet and apple juice with a wheatgrass shot.” 

Grace tugged at the hem of his polo shirt. “Do I have to have that?”

“No.” Steve snorted. He crouched down, hand still on George’s baby carriage, and directed her attention to the blackboard well above Beely’s head, with the standard recipes and day’s specials carefully written out. 

Grace poked her tongue out between her teeth, a very Danno thing to do, and studied the board. 

“Please may I have,” she said politely, “a Manuka Honey and Banana smoothie.” 

“With soy, milk, or cream?” Beely asked. 

Grace glanced at Steve for guidance as he straightened. 

Steve calculated age, activity level, known allergies, and advised, “Full fat milk.” 

“I’d like full fat milk, please,” Grace said, and watched, fascinated, as Beely prepared their choices. She viewed the wheatgrass shot with a certain amount of trepidation, but mainly curiosity, since she wasn’t drinking it. 

Beely winked at her as he set a shot glass filled with dark green liquid with a foamy head on the counter top. 

“You want to try?” Steve asked. 

Grace shook her head, lips firmly pursed. 

Steve lifted the shot and tossed it back in one gulp. 

“Did you enjoy that, Uncle Steve? Your face has gone all--” Grace screwed up her nose and mouth, shivering delicately. 

“It’s good for you, like broccoli and brussel sprouts,” Steve said manfully.

“I suppose,” she said dubiously, “it is quicker than eating a plate of broccoli.” 

Beely laughed as he used his short stepladder to grab some bananas stored on a shelf. The juicer was groaning away as it decanted rich, earthy purple liquid into a glass. 

“Will the baby want anything?” Beely asked, expertly chopping up bananas into chunks to feed into the food processor. 

Steve looked at it -- George -- he was deeply asleep, cocooned in comfort, dreaming of nothing. “He’s good for an hour or so, I guess. But I’ll take glass jar of organic milk with mushed oats and a dash of apple juice. Sentinel friendly.” 

“Oh,” Beely stretched up on his tiptoes peering over the counter. “Little sentinel, eh?” 

“Yeah,” Grace sighed. “He’s my brother.” 

“You must be very proud,” Beely said. 

And jealous, and confused, and a little worried, Steve supplied inwardly. 

“He’s like my daddy,” Grace said. 

“Oh, you’re Danny Williams’ girl. He talks about you all the time.” Beely smiled across at Grace, winningly. “You’re his favourite girl in the universe.”

Grace straightened proudly. “He’s the best dad in the universe,” she proclaimed. 

“Match made in Heaven, then.” Beely set her smoothie on the counter top with a chocolate chip cookie on a napkin. 

“Thank you,” Grace said happily, grinning at the shorter man. 

Steve glanced at the treat and then down at Beely, who simply raised an eyebrow and turned to get Steve’s Energy Booster from the beet juicer. 

“I’ll make a fresh batch of the baby’s milk and store it in a sterilized jar, while you have your treats,” Beely said, as he set Steve’s juice on the counter. 

“Don’t I get a freebie?” Steve asked as he handed over his credit card. 

“Carrot and ginger vegan cupcake.” Beely set in on a napkin, and Steve grinned toothily. 

Steve paid, and then considered the mechanics of navigating a baby carriage and drinks over to a table. Gracie took her smoothie two-handed to a window seat. Momentarily thrown, Steve struggled to determine how to take baby and drink and cupcake and cookie to the table safely at the same time. He couldn’t let the baby carriage out of his immediate grasp. Grace came skipping back to help as Beely picked up the Energy Booster and came around the side of the counter. Together they got baby, treats and drinks to the table. 

~*~

“There you are!” Danny yelled. 

“Hi, Danno!” 

Danny stalked over, arms pumping furiously. Steve wasn’t concerned. They had told Kono where they were going, and Danny was a sentinel; he could track them over freshly washed concrete in the hot summer sun. It wasn’t as if they had attempted to evade. Although that, potentially, could be a lot of fun. Steve had had some training in escape and evade techniques (he snorted inwardly, because that was something of an underestimation) -- add guide skills to the mix, and a little practise session might be a great deal of fun. 

“Babe? Your lips are purple,” Danny looked at them, entranced. 

Steve licked them, moistly, and cocked a smile.

“Have you finished yelling, Daddy?” Grace asked. “Where’s Mommy? Are you going to keep George now?” 

Danny blinked, thrown by the final question or the suite of questions, Steve wasn’t too sure. 

“Your Mom’s gone to talk to Step Stan.” Danny pushed his hands deep in his pockets, a blatant attempt to stop flailing. “George needs both of us, like you, but since George is still a little baby, he needs his Mom a lot, especially since he doesn’t really like bottled milk.”

So, Steve wondered, will Rachel and Grace be moving in with us tonight? Or will you be going to a hotel with them? 

There were a lot of quality substitute breast milk products on the market, but baby sentinels thrived on their mother’s milk. And when push came to shove, Danny’s family was the most important thing in the world to him. Danny loved Rachel, he loved Grace, and even before George was identified as his son, he had accepted the little boy as part of his family. Steve knew that he was loved, but he also knew his place in the scheme of things. 

“So unexpectedly--” Danny freed his hands from his pockets and rubbed them together, “--we get some family time this afternoon. What do you want to do, Monkey?”

“Can we go to your house, Uncle Steve? Play on the beach?” Grace asked. 

“Sure, Gracie, shall we have a barbeque?” Steve asked, already knowing the answer. 

~*~

“So,” Steve asked, once Grace was safely out of earshot, paddling at the water’s edge, “what’s happening?” 

Danny hadn’t put George down since they had got back to their home. He cradled the baby against his chest, letting him listen to his heart as he moved from pillar to post, gripped in thought. Finally, Danny sagged on the lounger, making Steve shift over to give him room. Steve took a fortifying sip of his beer. He had his own arguments and reasons to present, but he wanted to get the feel of Danny’s thoughts first. 

Danny pulled his knees up, and settled George into the well of his thighs and stomach. Supported in an impromptu baby rocker, George was wallowing in sensation, entranced by all the new sights, and sounds and smells around him. It was his first visit to the beach. 

“He’s my son, Steve.” 

“I know that. I told you,” Steve said a little pissily. 

Grace looked up from where she was now sitting in the surf, and waved. Steve found calm, as Danny automatically waved back. 

“I’m not getting back with Rachel.”

Steve glanced at Danny out of the corner of his eye. Whether he liked it or not, he accepted that there was a rich and complicated relationship between Rachel and Danny. They sought each other out when things went bad, they had a wealth of good memories. They were potassium and water -- a fiery, explosive combination. 

“We’re not good together, Steven. Oh, it’s fun. The sex is amazing. We have Grace who’s the best girl in the universe. And we’ve been lucky enough to be blessed with this new baby. But us screaming at each other, fighting, breaking up, making up, friends one minute, ardent enemies the other, was never good for Grace. And it wouldn’t be good for George. And, Babe--” Danny reached down and entwined their fingers together, “--we’re Sentinel and Guide.” 

“But what about him.” Steve pointed at the baby. 

Danny turned his head and looked at him in askance. “George? What about George?” 

“Are you going to sue Rachel for custody?” Steve asked, deftly freeing his hand from Danny’s grasp. 

“Isn’t that a little premature? Yeah, it’s a possibility. But George needs his mom more than his dad at the moment. I can’t feed him. Yes, I could refuse to give him back, and Sentinel Central would support me one hundred percent.” Danny caught George’s little hands between his fingers and thumbs and danced his arms back and forth. “They would probably even supply a wet nurse or super-magic perfectly prepared sentinel-approved baby milk. But it’s Rachel and she’s his mom. I don’t have a crystal ball. I don’t believe in crystal balls. I think we’ve got to let this play out, and try and figure out the best way to look after George and Gracie. You know what it really boils down to? I’ve got a son, Steve. I’ve got a son.” 

Steve pushed his shoulder against Danny’s side. “I know,” he said, a frisson of jealousy stirring in his gut. 

It was still a situation rife with unknowns. Steve was good with dealing with unknowns and preparation. 

“Okay.” Steve leaned over and pressed a kiss on Danny’s temple. “I have some stuff I need to do in the house.” 

“Ok--kay?” Danny accepted with a quizzical glance. “I’ll start on dinner prep. We’ve got steaks and shrimp?”

“Yeah.” Steve rolled off the lounger. “I’ll be upstairs.” 

~*~

Scenario One was that Rachel would leave Stan or be kicked out. Regardless of the reason, the outcome would be the same: Grace, George, and Rachel would need a place to stay. Possibility One was here at his house -- Steve stripped off the thin sheet protecting the double mattress in the guest bedroom, cracked the windows wide, and started to thoroughly dust and vacuum the room from top to bottom. Once it was dusted, he would go over it with a damp cloth. An additional twist on Scenario One was that Rachel would be in his house when he was with Danny. Steve wasn’t going to hide; they were in an adult, loving relationship. Possibility Two was that Rachel would want to move into a hotel -- if Danny insisted on going with her, Steve would raise possibility one as a viable option. 

Scenario Two -- Rachel stayed with Stan, and this was a waste of time. Nevertheless, preparation was important. 

“Babe, what are you doing?”

“Cleaning,” Steve said, kicking off the Dyson Allergy Multi-Surface vacuum. 

“I can see that.” 

“Where’s the baby?” Steve asked. 

“George is asleep on the sofa in a cushion cot.” Danny slid his arms around Steve’s waist, and snugged in tight. “Where’s your head at, Babe?” 

Steve set his chin on Danny’s bright hair. “Grace usually stays in Mary’s room. I figure George and Rachel might need a place to stay, depending on what happens with Stan. And it would be better if they were here.” 

Danny went still in his arms, the core of his emotional being wrapped suddenly taut, coiled ready to react, but waiting for flame to ignite touch paper. “You okay with that?” 

“It’s better than the alternative,” Steve said circumspectly. 

“Which is?” 

“You leaving,” Steve said gripping tightly. “Not forever, but temporarily. It has a better than average chance of happening.” 

Danny leaned back in his embrace, just enough to crane his head to catch Steve’s gaze. “And?” 

“If you have to, you will. Grace and George will always come first. And I accept that. They’re children. They’re dependants. They’re innocents. They need our protection.” Steve swallowed hard. “I’m not going to pretend, if Rachel stays here with Grace and George, that we’re not together. I know you haven’t officially told anyone, but that’s because it’s our business. You moved in and we haven’t hidden that. We go out on dates. We’ve filled in next-of-kin paperwork. But we haven’t announced anything. I don’t want Rachel here and you camping on the sofa.” 

“You filing your claim, Babe?” 

Steve pondered that, and the thread of humour lacing through Danny’s words like gold. “Yes,” he hazarded. 

“‘Bout time.” Danny stretched up and planted a kiss on Steve’s lips. 

“Oh,” Steve murmured against Danny’s mouth, as he sucked on a plump bottom lip. Danny’s warm, warm hands splayed across the small of Steve’s back and pulled him in tighter. 

“Dadddd-dy,” Grace called up the stairs. “George is doing the whimpering thing.” 

Danny laughed against Steve’s mouth -- it enfolded Steve’s senses: the whisper against his lips and the peal echoing through him. 

“Better get used to that, Babe,” Danny said. “There are two of them now -- kids have got a sixth sense for well-timed interruptions.” 

Equally reluctant, they released each other. 

“Hey, Danno, I don’t think I said,” Steve whispered sentinel-soft, stopping Danny as he trotted off to check his son. “Congratulations, it a boy.” 

~*~

Rachel appeared on the doorstep, white pale. Danny latched onto her like a paramedic. Steve turned on his heel, and headed to the kitchen, because his mother had programmed him to make sugary tea under these circumstances. Rachel was English; she would appreciate it. 

“Are you okay? Okay?” Danny’s hands fluttered around her. “Did Stan hurt--”

“I did not,” Stan interrupted. 

Steve froze. He had not factored Stan’s arrival at their home. 

“Stan?” Danny said. 

“Danny,” Stan returned. 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you,” Danny said remarkably neutrally for all the emotions whirling like a maelstrom in the air. They were giving Steve a headache -- this emotional shit was much easier before he had snatched Danny from his boring, mundane life and into 5-O. 

He supposed that he could only blame himself. 

“Stan!” Grace charged across the room and flung herself around his waist. “I thought that I might not see you again.” 

A pulse of jealousy beat against Steve’s senses. He fingered his temple, pressing a cold fingertip against bone. 

“We have a lot to talk about,” Stan continued. His hand cupped Rachel’s elbow. 

Steve escaped into the kitchen. He settled at the kitchen table with a glass of tap water and sipped. The mantra in his head of ‘I am a trained US Navy SEAL’ calmed him. This was nothing but a blip that would be endured. It shouldn’t affect him. He guessed that it might because Danny was riled and furious and hurting and elated…. 

“Yo, Babe.” A familiar, fond face bobbed into his line of vision. “You in there? I thought only sentinels zoned?” 

“Oh, I came in to make tea. Is Rachel okay? She looked a little shocky.” 

A warm hand curled around his wrist, fingertips resting over his pulse. “I think that you need a cup.” 

“I’ll put the kettle on, Daddy.” Grace moved up behind, ferrying kettle to the sink to fill it up with water. The water made a merry chiming sound as it filled the metal kettle.

“What’s happening?” Steve grated, voice suddenly raw.

“We’re being civilised.” Danny craned his head to the side. “Huh. Is that your doing?”

“What?” Steve started, because he was a projecting empath. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t, that would be unconscionable. But he had lost time -- time had passed. 

Danny read his mortification. “Sorry, Babe, I know you wouldn’t.”

 _I think I did. I was trying for calm._

“Here let me help you with that, Monkey.” Danny left his line of sight. “Tea for Mommy and Steve. Stan and I will have coffee.” Steve heard the click of the coffee maker. 

“Can I put the pods in, Danno?” Grace asked. 

“Sure,” Danny said agreeably, always ready to indulge his Monkey. 

Was he forcing calm on the family? Even the possibility horrified him. 

“Babe? Your heartbeat skyrocketed, are you okay?” Danny palmed his forehead. “Wow, you’ve gone clammy.”

“I need to get out of here.” Steve pushed off from the table and bolted out the kitchen door. Angling through the dining room his goal was the ocean beyond the lanai. 

“Steve!” 

Steve ran shedding his shirt and t-shirt, casting them aside, as he raced over the lanai. He kicked off his loosely tied boots as he crossed the sand. Freeing his belt, he lost it in the surf touching the beach. 

“Steve!”

He dived, arms outstretched, toes pointed, straight through the rising wave, and into the ocean. Steve powered through the water, dolphin kicking strongly. He knew his cove and he understood water. Under the waves, he moved faster and more efficiently than on the surface. Once past the crashing waves overhead, he surfaced. Head to the side, he grabbed a breath of fresh air and settled into an economic and restrained front crawl out into the blue. 

It was seamless. It was perfect. The drive of physical effort, striving for perfect form, filled his mind. His cargoes dragged, but he compensated as taught. The air was cool in the early evening light, but the water was warm. The line of his arm from fingertips to elbow smoothly entered the water angling downwards. He caught breath in the trough of the pull of his opposite arm in the water. 

He swam. 

Finally, he slowed, exhaustion encroaching. The water was flat calm and dark around him as far as he could see. Stretching his fingertips ahead, he rolled onto his back. He wasn’t built for this; too little body fat meant that he wouldn’t float easily. Drawing his arms down and around, to fan his fingers at his waist, he drifted in body and mind. 

~*~

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Danny gripped the handrail of the speedboat and peered out over the water. Thankfully, there was barely a ripple, only the ebb and flow of tidal forces moving the ocean and pulling at his skin. Danny was as open to his senses as he had ever been -- trying to find a single soul in the vastness. 

“Can you see him?” Stan asked from the wheel of the speedboat that they had appropriated from Steve’s neighbours. 

“Quiet! Switch off the engine.” 

Stan complied with impressive alacrity. 

Knuckles white at the handrail, Danny listened. 

“There!” Danny pointed. Focussing, he could see Steve lying on his back in stark relief. Head hanging low, neck extended, only his mouth and nose were out of the water. His eyes were closed and lips parted. Ripples of water lapped around him. 

Danny couldn’t have told anyone on the entire State of Hawaii what happened between one moment and the next. But suddenly he was in the water, swimming strongly in his short, choppy style that Steve fondly referred to as a modified doggy paddle. 

“Steve. Steve.” There was no response. 

Danny caught him and on grabbing he upset the precarious balance between floating and sinking. Steve sank between his hands, arrowing downwards to the depths with grim surety. Terrified, Danny dived down with him, clumsily grabbing Steve’s arm and arching backwards with a kick of his legs. They had gone down so far so fast. He kicked again and again, dragging them both back to the surface. It wasn’t like being at the Y and training at lifesaving in the pool. Steve was slack and no help whatsoever. They sunk back under and Danny struggled to get around and under Steve, so that his long lanky form was cushioned against his chest. Danny kicked them back to the surface, grabbing a much needed breath of air. 

“Danny!” Stan yelled and an inflatable life ring splashed close by his head. 

Danny grabbed it like a man drowning and hauled it in close. The buoyancy was welcome. He knew that he probably wasn’t doing it correctly, or efficiently, but between the ring and his own strength he managed to get Steve braced against him, the back of his head safely cradled on his shoulder. He cupped Steve’s mouth and nose with the palm of his hand, and sagged with relief as a rough breath brushed his skin. 

Then they were being towed; Stan had thrown a ring with a rope tied to it. Danny kind of forgave him for being an ass. He kept his hand protectively over Steve’s face, stopping the sea from getting him. 

Stan was swearing, unpredictably and uncharacteristically, as he hauled them in close. 

“I’ve got him. I’ve got him.” Stan reached over the edge of the speedboat, bent low and clamped a meaty hand around Steve’s shoulder. 

Getting a dead weight out of water was not easy, especially onto a bobbing boat. Danny worked with Stan, dragging Steve to the back of the boat. Hilariously, Danny heard an imaginary Steve in the back of his head, admonishing him, correcting and calling it a stern. 

Danny didn’t fucking care what it was called; there was a step back there which meant that it would be easier to haul an unconscious body from the sucking water. And Steve was unconscious, not dead, Danny told himself. He could hear the lub-dub of his beating heart. 

“Careful of his head,” Danny grated. Using the buoyancy of the ring, he got his foot on the bottom step. Teeth gritted, Danny managed to lift Steve’s head and shoulders out of the water.

Stan squatted down, back straight, got his arms around Steve’s narrow chest and lifted. There was no grace and no style to his manoeuvre; he just lifted up, dragging Steve over the gunwale, and fell back onto the deck. 

Danny caught the rail and clambered on board, falling in and over Steve on the small wooden deck. 

“Careful,” he reprimanded Stan, who was trying to get out from under Steve. 

Stan froze, and watched warily, as Danny got in close.

“Steve?” Danny planted his ear against Steve’s ribcage. He didn’t need the proximity, but it helped. Air moved through his lungs, but there was the faintest huff of a rusty wheeze -- Steve had inhaled some salt water. 

“Steve?” Danny tried again, cognizant of Stan’s proximity. Deftly, he flipped up Steve’s eyelid. His iris was a thin greenish-blue line around an inky jet-black pupil. The other pupil matched. Danny ran über sensitive fingertips over the terrain of Steve’s skull. There was no evidence of a head injury and he knew exactly what his guide had eaten (they had eaten the same thing) and this reaction wasn’t a drug-reaction. 

“Danny, do you want to get your… Steve off me?” Stan asked. 

Danny glowered. But he cradled the back of Steve’s head and got his other hand around his shoulders and slid him onto his lap. Carefully, Stan edged his legs out from under Steve’s and shuffled away. 

Danny stroked along Steve’s high cheekbone with a single fingertip. “Steve?” he whispered. 

Stan crouched at his side. “He’s your guide, isn’t he?” he said perceptively. Stan abruptly backed off out of reach, hands spread. “I’ll… uhm… get us back to shore.” 

“You do that.” Danny said, wanting him to retreat. 

Stan didn’t race immediately to the wheel. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his iPhone. “I’ve got a couple of bars, do you want me to try for the Emergency Services?” 

“No,” Danny said automatically. “Head back home.” 

Stan didn’t obey straight away, he pulled off his windbreaker and tossed the jacket over. 

“Thanks,” Danny said gruffly, even though it smelled all wrong. He draped it over Steve’s bare chest. 

Stan didn’t say another word, but Danny could feel the weight of his stare, even as he turned his back to them and took the wheel. He powered up the speedboat and angled it back to shore. 

Stan now knew that Steve was a guide. The man was a ruthless business man, wealthy and pragmatic, and willing to indulge in blackmail when it suited him. What would he do with the information?

Danny could be much more ruthless and pragmatic. He eyed the vulnerable nape of Stan’s neck. 

No Stan would simplify life immeasurably. Rachel would be free from a complicated and conflicted marriage. A stranger wouldn’t have immediate and unrestricted access to his daughter and son. 

Danny laughed, surprising himself. He knew that sentinels were reputed to have a dark side -- but this bordered on the ridiculous. 

“Hey, Babe.” He stroked along Steve’s cheekbone again. “I need my conscience.” Steve had previously successfully advised him not to inflict grievous bodily harm on Stan. 

“Isn’t it kind of weird for someone like Steve to be a guide?” Stan said, dicing with death. 

“Yeah, because people are easy to pigeon hole into roles,” Danny responded waspishly. 

“So, what is this? I guessed you guys are together; but he’s just broken out? Is that what happened?”

It was as good a reason as any -- even if it was inaccurate. Sentinels broke out -- usually as teenagers if they weren’t online their entire lives. The sudden glut of sensory information combined with hormone imbalances caused a fugue state. 

Guides just were, Danny understood. And realised that he badly wanted to talk to his dad about being a guide. 

“Come on, Babe. Come back to me.” He leaned over Steve shielding him from view. Back bowed, he pressed a kiss against parted lips. “I’m here. I’m with you.” 

He felt rather than saw the barest frisson of movement stir Steve’s long form. 

“Babe?” Danny breathed, sweeping a thumb gently over the fine skin under Steve’s eye, brushing his eyelashes with a butterfly kiss. 

“Da--,” It was barely a consonant, but Danny, sentinel _par extraordinaire_ heard it. 

“Hey, you’re back.” The powerboat seemed to leap forward exuberantly. 

“Danny?” Steve blinked. The switch from unconsciousness to waking was absolute on every level -- suddenly Steve was present and alert. 

“It’s okay,” Danny soothed, stroking a hand over the side of Steve’s neck down to his shoulder under the jacket. 

“Are you okay?” Steve twisted off Danny’s lap with alacrity, popping up like a jack-in-the-box into a crouch directly before Danny. 

Steve pressed a large hand against Danny’s face and peered deeply into his eyes. 

“I should be asking you that, Babe.” Danny caught his hand and pulled it down, weaving their fingers together. He didn’t care what Stan thought. 

“Why?” Brow furrowed, Steve scanned the boat, registered Stan at the helm, catalogued the sea state, noted the time based on the deepening dusk. Straightening a fraction, he unerringly looked over the bow, toward the land ahead. If Danny hadn’t known better, he would have identified him as a sentinel. 

Steve heaved out a sigh. “Shit.”

“Shit indeed!” Danny pounced. “What were you thinking? What the Hell set that off? What the Hell was that!”

Steve’s expression segued into aneurysm face and then a shocking millisecond later into ecstatic. 

“You’re annoyed,” he said, elatedly. 

“What?” Danny broke off, astounded. “Are you actually having an aneurysm?”

“No, I’m not.” And then Steve subjected Danny to his complete focus. Danny froze under that implacable, eagle regard. The knotted furrow between Steve’s eyes looked as big as the Grand Canyon to his sentinel vision. 

Whatever Steve saw or felt satisfied him. Danny automatically tilted his head as Steve cupped Danny’s cheek and leaned in for a kiss. He tasted of salt water and exhaustion; his lips were dry and spoke loudly to Danny of dehydration. 

Steve pulled back. “You’re thinking too much,” he said softly. It was normally Danny’s line. 

There was no water on the boat, no supplies as far as Danny could see. He had simply ran to the boat without a second thought after Steve had made his mad dash into the damnable ocean. As Danny had struggled to hotwire the engine motor, Stan had clambered on board. 

“You need to drink something, you’re dehydrated.”

“I’ll live.” Steve snuck in for a little peck of a kiss, and then twisted in a half-controlled fall to rest at Danny’s side, head back against the gunwale, long legs stretched out. 

“Babe?” Danny asked concerned. 

“Just conserving my energy.” 

Danny snaked an arm around Steve’s shoulders, and tugged him over so that his heavy head fitted neatly between Danny’s collar and neck like a baseball into a glove. Tufty damp hair tickled his ear, but Danny didn’t move. 

Stan was watching them, turning from the wheel. Danny lowered his brows and regarded the interloper. Flushing, Stan turned back to concentrate on piloting the boat. 

Steve chuffed under his breath, a sound of exhaustion -- half insane demand for air and half gushing, lip smacking exhale. Steve only made the chuffing sound when sick and tired, or very drunk. 

Danny shuffled sideways, taking a fraction more of Steve’s weight. 

“We’ll be home soon, Babe. Relax. I’ve got the watch.” 

Warm breath tickled Danny’s throat as, amazingly, Steve obeyed the direction and slipped into sodden, exhausted sleep. 

~*~

Stan brought the boat against the Hills’ tiny wooden dock. Adroitly jumping off the boat, rope in hand, he tied the vessel up securely. 

“Stan!” Rachel spoke from somewhere overhead. “Did you find him?” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh, thank God.” 

Danny heard them come together, arm in arm. He heard Rachel’s heart rate increase, an intake of breath as she likely stretched up on her tiptoes and reached for a kiss. He looked down at the dark head pushed securely against his neck and felt a rush of fondness that deepened the core of love that he felt for Steven J. McGarrett. 

“Danny?” Rachel came a step closer and he smelled her floral perfume. “Stan said that you didn’t want --” she broke off frustrated, but typically rallied a second later. “Do we need to go to hospital?” 

She never remembered to say _the_ hospital. 

Craning his head, Danny looked over the rail at her. “No,” he said but he was reserving judgement. 

“Are you sure?” Rachel persisted, because persistent (or pushy) was her middle name. 

“Babe?” Danny twisted his arm, and rested his hand over the side of Steve’s head. “Time to wake up.” 

“Huh?” Steve mumbled, and immediately straightened. Danny marvelled again at his ability to wake the fuck up. 

“We’re back. Time to move this into the house.” 

“Okay.” Steve shifted away, wincing and stiff. “Man, I feel like I’ve been through the wringer,” he admitted sleepily. 

“Commander,” Rachel said. 

“Oh. Hi, Rachel.” Steve started. He twisted to look over the edge of the boat. “How are you doing?”

“I’m doing fine, Commander. How are you?” 

Steve glanced at Danny, mutely, for what, Danny couldn’t guess. He wanted to get Steve on his own, without Rachael and Stan, find out what the fuck had triggered whatever the fuck had happened. He rubbed his face, ashamed at his own internal language in the proximity of his children. Plural. Wow. 

“Ummm,” Steve managed as he hauled himself to his feet. Danny stood with him, ready to lend a hand if necessary. Steve clambered off the speedboat, with none of his normal grace, and onto the dock. He glanced at Danny again. Closing his eyes, Steve rubbed at the knot between his brows. 

“Steve?” Danny jumped from boat to dry land, and grabbed his elbow. “Rachel, call an ambulance.”

“No!” Steve rocketed as straight as arrow. At attention, albeit lacking the salute, he spoke. “Rachel, Stan. You are welcome in our home at anytime. But Danny and I need a couple of hours. This is a guide matter. Actually, Danny, if you need to go with Rachel and the kids, that’s okay.” 

“What!” Danny demanded. 

“Of course, Commander,” Rachel said easily. Stan moved possessively into her orbit. 

“Danny?” Steve asked. 

“I’m staying here,” he said automatically. It was his turn to stare mutely at Rachel. He couldn’t believe that Stan was still willing to try to save their marriage, and that Rachel was determined to give it a go. But he had been willing to try again with Rachel even when he thought that George was Stan’s baby boy. Part of him really wanted Rachel and Grace and George under their roof, but how would that work? Especially if Rachel wanted to try with Stan? Cluster fuck.

“Thank you,” Steve said, and Danny wasn’t too sure to whom he was speaking. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” Chin high, he marched towards the house. 

“Guide matter?” Rachel said archly. 

“Yes, actually, Rachel. And that means private.” Danny framed a little square box with his hands. “And between me, the sentinel, and my guide, Lieutenant Steve McGarrett, a SEAL.” 

“The commander is your guide?” Rachel double checked, leaning forwards a fraction as if verifying that Danny was really Danny. 

“And why is that so unbelievable?”

“I don’t know. Because he’s so… so….” Rachel pursed her lips a moment. “Tall.” 

“Tall?” Danny blinked. “Tall.” 

“Oh, you know what I mean.” She turned on a dime, and stalked up to the house, swinging her high heels from her crooked index finger. 

Stan shrugged at Danny and scarpered after her. 

Danny looked heavenwards, and let himself focus on the Milky Way arching overhead. His sentinel vision let him resolve the bank of cloudy light into individual stars. The light pollution over Honolulu prevented him from seeing the whole panoramic expanse. The view kind of put things into perspective. 

“Hey, wait up, Steve. I’m coming.” Danny chased after him. 

~*~

“Uncle Steve, are you all right?” Grace aborted her automatic run towards him, and belatedly, Steve realised that he was only wearing damp cargoes and nothing else. 

“Yeah, Gracie.” Steve closed the door onto the lanai behind him. 

“Why did you run away?” Grace stared at his bare toes, fascinated. 

“I think that I might have--” Steve scratched the back of his head, grimacing at the salt, “--inadvertently done something bad. It surprised me and I got confused.” 

“Like what?” 

Steve didn’t answer the question. He was looking through the windows, toward Danny, caught in the lights of the lanai, head tilted to the side, listening. Rachel and Stan were trapped between their gaze. She paused, hand reaching for the doorknob, turning to face Danny. 

“Have you been babysitting George?” Steve asked changing the subject. 

Grace nodded proudly. “It wasn’t real babysitting, because mom was down on the beach. But there was no one in the house. Mom trusted me to look after George.”

Steve edged across the dining room. In the living room he could see the nest of cushions that was George’s impromptu crib. 

“I need a shower. I’ll see you soon, Grace.” He ran, there was no other word for it. 

He wasn’t lying about the shower. Water calmed him. Cleanliness allowed him to find an even keel. He tossed his cargoes in the hamper in their bedroom and padded naked into the shower. Standing under it, he turned the water on, and even revelled in the first cold-sharp stab of water, until it warmed. Methodically, he lathered his hair and scrubbed at his scalp. Systematically, he moved from head to toe drawing a too rough sponge over his salt-sensitive skin. Finally, he sluiced away the suds and, wearily, leaned into the tiled wall. Canting his head a fraction, he let his mouth fill with water flowing from the showerhead and drank. 

“Steve, you’ve been in there four times longer than your three minute prescribed Navy shower. Do you want me to come in an’ get you?” 

Startled out of his somnolent doze, Steve almost slipped in the bath. Danny moved like greased lightening, sliding into the bathroom. 

“Come on, get out of there.” Danny pulled back the curtain and offered Steve a towel. He let Steve take the towel and wrap it around his waist. Then Danny held out his hand, offering his help in taking the step out of the shower. 

Steve had never needed help like the Queen of England stepping over a puddle in his entire life, but he accepted Danny’s offer, gripping the smaller hand, and making the suddenly giant step out of the shower. 

“Come on, Babe.” Danny led him into the master bedroom. “Fuck, you’re exhausted.” 

“I gotta….”

“Nah, Steve.” Danny steered him around in what seemed like a large circle, and then somehow got him sitting on their mattress, the covers of their bed were turned down. 

“Danny?”

“Later, Steve.” A towel was dumped on his head, and Danny rubbed vigorously. Steve let himself sway, zoning on the rough affection. He blinked up at Danny, as Danny pulled the towel off his head, and moved to rub his back and shoulders. Ruthlessly, Danny lifted his arm up and drew the towel up and over his arm -- drying armpit, biceps and forearm, before drawing it over his chest and onto his other arm. “I guess you think that you did something guidey and it freaked you out. But we can talk about it later.” 

“Guidey?” Steve managed, as Danny set a fingertip to the centre of his chest and pushed. As he toppled backwards, Danny lifted his feet by the ankles and swung him around so he sort of lay straight on the bed. 

Halfway to sleep, he felt Danny set his ear to his chest. 

“You’re a little wheezy, Babe. Gonna have to keep an eye on that.” 

“Or an ear,” Steve mumbled. 

“Very funny.” Danny said, brushing a kiss over his heart. “Go to sleep, Steven.” 

As he sagged into sleep, he thought that he felt Danny drying between his toes. 

~*~

Steve was out -- deep in the Land of Nod. What had happened, Danny wondered. That has been weird on a level of weird that defined weird. 

He tugged the damp towel from around Steve’s waist -- he was a heavy lump of sleep -- and tossed it in the corner. Danny would get it in the neck tomorrow morning. Tucking the sheet and thin padded quilt over Steve, Danny thought that he looked much warmer, cocooned. 

Danny had seen Rachel, Stan, and the kids off the premises, checked the house, and spent a little longer than he admitted to standing over George’s empty, impromptu pillow-crib on the sofa, inhaling. The house was locked down for the night, even if it was only eight-thirty. 

An early night wouldn’t kill him, in fact in the long term, it would probably be a good thing. Danny’s trousers and shirt landed on top of the towel, and he skinned off his boxer-briefs. 

Danny was an undisputed hedonist, but he took the fastest shower that he had ever taken in his entire life, enough to rinse off the annoying salt and relieve the drying-pull aggravating his skin. Ducking away from the steamed up bathroom mirror, because he didn’t want to see the state of his hair, he slid back into their bedroom. 

Steve hadn’t shifted a muscle. Danny took his side of the bed with his customary bounce and claiming. To sneak into bed would probably wake Steve up in a heartbeat. Thumping his pillow, he got it situated to his satisfaction against the headboard. And shuffling, he got himself positioned perfectly -- small of his back bolstered, and his thigh warm against Steve’s shoulder. 

It was still a little too early to sleep. A couple of hours with his latest novel was the prescription for rest. Sentinel sight meant that he could read in the dark without disturbing his partner. 

Eighty three pages on, Steve mumbled _potato frittata_ under his breath, and rolled onto his side, back to Danny. 

Settling his book aside, Danny leaned over his love. He could already tell that Steve was still asleep, but he wanted to look at him anyway. His impossibly long lashes curled, sweetly.

“Fuck, I’m besotted,” Danny grumbled. He tossed the book on the bedside table on his side of the bed, and slid down to spoon Steve in his body. Setting his nose into the nape of Steve’s neck, and snuffling against the warm dry skin, hair brushing the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes and relaxed. 

~*~

A hundred thousand years later, or maybe twelve hours later, Steve blinked awake. Oddly, his body was still asleep, lax and somnolent, even as he categorised home, bedroom, morning, bed, alone…. 

He really, really wanted to stay under the blankets. He was perfectly warm and comfortable. 

“Hey, Babe, you with?” Danny said. The mattress dipped as Danny sat on the edge of their bed. 

Huh, Danny must have been monitoring him with laser focus. 

“Dan--” Steve shifted on the bed and froze as every muscle in his body clamoured, protesting and loudly proclaiming that they were abused. The world whitened out with the incipient cramp of strained muscles. 

“Babe?”

Shit, how long had he been swimming? He needed electrolytes and Advil, speedily. Steve relaxed into the pain as he had been taught. Actually even a glass of water would probably help. 

“Steve?” Danny said tone serious. “Talk to me.” 

“Sorry, Danno. I think I strained some muscles with my swim.” Steve got his elbows under him and levered up. “I’m okay,” he said, wincing. 

“Yeah well, that’s open to the court. Lay there. I’ll go get you some Advil.”

“What time is it?” Steve threw at his retreating back. Occasionally, Danny woke before him, but not very often. 

Grumbling and groaning, perhaps a little melodramatically, Steve got himself up on the pillows, and stretched out, tensing and relaxing the muscles in his legs and abdomen. Oh, he had really overdone things and hadn’t cooled down correctly. 

Danny returned with a tray loaded with oatmeal, toast, orange juice, a mug of tea and a bottle of Advil. There was also a bowl of All Bran and vat of coffee. Danny plonked down on the bed, folding his left leg, other leg hanging off the side of the bed. Setting the tray on Steve’s lap, he grabbed the coffee. 

“Danny,” Steve began. 

“Toast, Juice, Advil -- talk. In that order.” 

Steve took a bite of toast, washed the mouthful down with a slug of orange juice and followed that mix with the two capsules from the container. 

Danny watched him unimpressed, so Steve followed up with a toothy, toast-smeared grin. 

“You’re such a child.” Danny shook his head. 

“Child,” Steve said, suddenly sobering. “What happened last night? Did Rachel take Grace and George to Stan’s house?” 

“Stan--” Danny shook his head in amazement, “--is willing to keep trying to save their marriage. Rachel wants to. And judging from the face you just pulled you’re not happy about that? Actually, no, I’m not too sure what that face is?” 

Steve didn’t have a mirror, so the face thing was incidental to what he was thinking. Danny and his faces. He shrugged at Danny. 

“So, right, you projected last night,” Danny continued. “That’s what made you go nutzoid and almost drown yourself. We’re going to be talking about that later, by the way. But first, what the fuck do you think you did? And do you know if you actually did it?” 

Steve took another draught of orange juice, as he parsed that sentence. “I think I projected calm over everyone. And based on the fact that you and Rachel didn’t have a screaming argument, especially when Stan appeared on our doorstep, I’m ninety percent sure that I did. I didn’t mean to, though.” 

Steve winced at how feeble that sounded. He didn’t do feeble. Shit. He checked Danny through the veil of his eyelashes as he sagged back against the pillows bolstered behind him. Danny sat quietly, not even a hint of choler staining his cheeks. Steve reigned in tightly, determined to stay locked down. He didn’t want to even guess what Danny was feeling. 

“Calm,” Danny said thoughtfully. “Calm.” 

“Everyone was so annoyed,” Steve blurted. “Frustrated. Jealous. Hurting. Grace was a hairsbreadth from crying. You were a keg of gunpowder. I was…”

“You were what, Babe?” Danny shuffled forwards and rested a hand on his ankle. 

“Frustrated. Jealous.” He closed his eyes. “I knew I needed to calm down. I sat at the kitchen table and sort of meditated.”

“And while you were trying to calm down, you made us calm,” Danny summed up. 

“Inadvertently. But, I think so, yes.”

“Babe.” Danny tapped the top of his foot. “Open your eyes.” 

Steve obeyed. Danny was scrutinizing him, lips pursed, except for the tip of his tongue peeking out. 

“Okay, you shouldn’t have done that. But--” Danny blew out a sigh, “--honestly, _calm_? Calm? In the scheme of things, I can live with calm -- it wasn’t like you forced zombie-love on Rachel and Stan.”

Steve shuddered. “Zombie-love?” he echoed, incredulously. 

“You know, slavish, besotted artificial love.” Danny hand-waved that description and returned to matters at hand. “I don’t want you to do the calm thing again. It was an accident and, I’ll admit, given that Grace was right there, I’m glad that Rachel and me didn’t default into our normal screaming match. I’m giving you a get-out-of-jail-free card for this one.”

“Danny.” 

“Steven.” The hand around his ankle gripped tightly. “You almost killed yourself because you were so cut up about even the possibility of manipulating us.” He gritted his teeth. “Take the get-out-of-jail-free card.” 

“Taken.” Steve acknowledged. He pressed his hand against his heart. 

Danny rolled his eyes. Shaking his head, he slid up the bed, leaning in for a kiss. “You’re such a romantic.” 

Danny tasted of coffee. It was the best way to experience coffee in Steve’s humble opinion. The comforting cushion against his senses that he was dipping his toes in segued into confusion. 

Steve pulled back. “D?” he asked. 

Danny curled his lips, tongue flicking out to taste with a grimace. “Acid and free radicals. Stress hormones.” His fingers latched around Steve’s wrist, with a frown. 

“Danny?” Steve asked. 

“You remember when you slapped Mrs. Malone with your creepy empathic skills?” 

“I love the way you say that.” Steve shook his head, but it was just Danny’s way for phrasing things. 

“And you passed out and slept like a vegetating pumpkin in a patch for three days?” 

“I’m not entirely sure about your analogy, but yes.” Steve remembered it very well, it had been the defining moment of him becoming a projecting empath. “She also hit me pretty hard. I think that that had something to do with the sleeping.” 

“Maybe not.” Danny lifted Steve’s hand and licked the inside of his wrist with the tip of his tongue, tasting. “I think you overstrained yourself. I think you overstrained yourself then. And I think you overstrained yourself last night.” 

“I barely did anything. I just….” Steve pulled his hand free from Danny’s grasp, plastering it against his face. “I haven’t got a clue what I did last night.” 

“Move this,” Danny directed, lifting away the tray from Steve’s lap and setting it aside. Danny sat on top of the blankets, legs either side of Steve’s hemming him in. Pausing a moment, Danny rested his forehead against Steve’s, and then sat back, ass on Steve’s thighs. Steve had never felt less turned on in his life as Danny read and catalogued him organically. 

“Babe, you’re a guide. But you can barely admit it. You’ve avoided it your entire life because you had to. You’ve read a couple of pamphlets and checked sentinelcentral.com. But you’re like a super guide.” Danny screwed his hands into fists. “We need to talk to someone about this stuff.” 

“Who?” Steve asked. Danny knew the reality of their lives. They were sentinel and guide and they were now acting in the public eye as sentinel and guide, waiting for Sentinel Central to connect the dots and acknowledge that they were sentinel and guide. By then they would be considered an accomplished, mature pair, and separating them would do Sentinel Daniel Williams a disservice. They would also have at least six months evidence of a sensitive guide, also known as Lieutenant Commander Steven J. McGarrett, successfully leading the Governor of Hawaii’s task force. Asking for help would derail their long term plans and draw attention. 

“There’s only one guide on planet that I trust.” Danny frowned. “Other than you, of course, but that goes without saying, you big dork. My dad.”

“But your dad can’t do the--” Steve trailed off. 

“The?” Danny wiggled his fingers by his temple, illustrating projective empathy. “He’s still a guide, though. He’ll have insight. Advice.” 

“So what do you want to do? Go to New Jersey?” 

“No.” Danny checked his watch and rolled off Steve, leaving him bereft. “It’s just after eight am in New Jersey. We’ll get them to come out here.” 

“Them?” 

“Mom and Dad.” Danny grinned as he trotted out of their bedroom. “I’ll be booking their flights using your American Express card. You better clean the cobwebs off of it. First class all the way, Babe.” 

Fin


End file.
